The Antonym of Hypochondriac
by sutaretagaisce
Summary: An ordinary afternoon, simple game of tennis, and a common cold somehow come out as more.


Set immediately after Haruko's departure in FLCL 6.  
  
iNothing ever happens in this town.  
  
The Medical Mechanica packed up and left, leaving an abandoned factory in the shape of an iron to loom over us.  
  
It doesn't spread that yellow steam anymore. Nowadays, our town only looks hazy from the cover of smog that comes from the cities.  
  
We only walk about in confusion of our own accord. The wrinkles in our brain are only smoothed out when we try to preen to make ourselves look better in front of the rest of the world, the way you would straighten a cuff or skirt hem.  
  
Nothing sprouts out of my forehead anymore except for occasional acne.  
  
Nothing changes anymore. It's completely normal. Completely boring./i  
  
"Get ready to serve!" the teacher cried through her megaphone. "Remember! Loose wrists as you get ready."  
  
Ta-THUMP went the students' tennis balls in unison. Ta-THUMP.  
  
A line of listless children standing with their hands outstretched for the inevitable return. Ta-THUMP.  
  
"This is supposed to be the time for you to concentrate before hitting the ball over the net. It's like yoga! Breathe in and oouuuuut."  
  
Ta-THUMP. Ta-THUMP.  
  
"We're going to do that next, I bet," Masashi whispered under his breath. "It's all these new age non-contact sports she thought of..."  
  
Gaku's lips puckered. "Do we get to see her in a leotard?"  
  
"Be quiet!" Miyajun-sensei bellowed. "I still need to take attendance!"  
  
Ta-THUMP. Ta-THUMP.  
  
Each bounce echoed in Naota's head like an old name. Ta-THUMP.  
  
Miyajun-sensei started to drone out the role at each beat.  
  
"Aiko?"  
  
Ta-THUMK.  
  
"Here!"  
  
"Gaku."  
  
Ta-THUNK.  
  
"Here!"  
  
"Sasami?"  
  
Ta-KLUNK.  
  
"Here!"  
  
"Tatsuya?"  
  
Ta-KUNK.  
  
"Here!"  
  
"Tomoko?"  
  
Ta-KUN.  
  
"Here!"  
  
"Naota."  
  
TA-KUN.  
  
Naota's head shot up and with such urgency he missed catching his tennis ball. It sputtered off across the court to the locker rooms, going ta-ta-ta- ta-ta along the way.  
  
"He-here!"  
  
Feeling slightly embarrassed for being caught daydreaming, Naota quickly ran after his ball so he could once again find anonymity in the class. But it kept rolling away, until it hit bounced off something in the shaded patio and rolled off to the side. With an exasperated sigh, Naota crouched down in preparation to grab it when a shoe abruptly stepped on it and ceased all movement.  
  
"Ninamori?"  
  
"Here," said the shoe. Or rather the shoe's owner, as Naota looked to find Ninamori's calculating green eyes staring down at him.  
  
He quickly withdrew his hand, trying hard to mask the blush that spread across his cheeks. The rather improper angle at which he glanced up made his head swim and he scrambled to right himself to the position where the world looked normal.  
  
"You're late Ninamori," Miyajun-sensei exclaimed distractedly, as if she just had a revelation that wasn't readily apparent to the assembled class.  
  
"I'm sorry Sensei, but I have a cold and I didn't know if I was coming today."  
  
For all intents and purposes it seemed true. Ninamori Eri looked sincerely ill. Her skin was wan and drawn tight against her face, and her normal confidence looked drained from her. There seemed to be something about her that was out of focus, in the way that Naota could only recognize her as his classmate from the corner of his eyes.  
  
Miyajun-sensei frowned at this in an awkward mix of human concern and the discretion of a teacher who (in theory) wielded authority, which was hard to do since most of the class did not know whether or not to treat her accordingly as an adult or simply as an extraterrestrial life form.  
  
"Considering your illness, I think it wouldn't be a problem if you don't exert yourself this class-"  
  
"I want to," Ninamori interrupted, bringing forth a violet tennis racket from behind her back to hold protectively. "It's not a problem for me."  
  
"Well, if you change your mind..."  
  
The racket's strings of synthetic gut twisted in her grip. "It's not a problem for me."  
  
Naota snorted under his breath.  
  
With another shout of her megaphone Miyajun-sensei dictated that the class divide into pairs to play a single game before rotating (the attendance was promptly forgotten because if there were any students absent they would not be there to protest her lack of attention).  
  
Naota did not bother to look for Gaku and Masashi as the rest of the class dispersed. He knew the way children worked socially, they thought far more symbolically and abstract than adults gave them credit for. If he was apart from them physically, they would extend it to a social barrier in their minds. Just as if he started acting like a monkey they would most likely give him a banana instead of telling him to stop.  
  
However, right now this visible separation left only Ninamori Eri to compete against.  
  
A small, raspy cough came from the girl.  
  
"So how sick are you, anyway?" Naota prodded tactlessly, his head cocked to see if she would take some sort of offense.  
  
"Sick enough for my father to suggest I go to the hospital."  
  
"Really?" A trickle of sympathy for her washed through Naota, memories of lying helpless on gurneys in dark rooms with faceless people examining you. "Why didn't you go?"  
  
Ninamori said without humor, "Because I told him I would be all right. And then he nodded at me and left to go to work. That means it's not that serious."  
  
"Serious enough to consider going to the hospital," he persisted.  
  
"But not serious enough to have him consider staying home."  
  
Naota paused. He somehow felt that he had missed something in the translation. However, the sun's heat was beginning to distract him from making a coherent argument. "You could have at least stayed home and enjoyed it."  
  
She shrugged. "You're only supposed to stay at home when you pretend you're sick. When you're really sick you go to school, because if you feel bad already you might as well go and feel a little bit more miserable."  
  
Ninamori then twirled her racket in her hand and proceeded to walk to the other side of the court.  
  
Her toes were on the line as she experimentally bounced her tennis ball. Ta- THUMP. Ta-KUN.  
  
"My mother told me I could be the next Shinobu Asagoe if I just practiced hard enough," Ninamori stated without pride. Up went the ball. Down went the racket.  
  
Next thing Naota realized was that the neon yellow shape had whizzed past his ankle and was trailing on the floor.  
  
"Pay attention, Naota-kun!" Ninamori shouted across the net.  
  
Already blocking her out, Naota leaned down to retrieve the ball. Tennis was a stupid sport. They didn't have any catchers in case they missed and the scoring rules didn't make sense.  
  
Naota chucked the ball back over the net, attempting the famous slider shot his brother Tasuku practiced before leaving. It hit the edge of the net and he had to go pick it up again.  
  
Ninamori was already at the net with her hand outstretched. "Look, I'll serve again and we'll start over. It's just like baseball Naota-kun, you swing and try to keep it in the court."  
  
With a little bit more venom than he expected, Naota thrust the ball back into her hands and sent her stumbling back. "Baseball doesn't have courts."  
  
"Love-love. My service," she announced dispassionately. There was no set up as she immediately sent the ball into the air. Her swing was like a blur, and from her rapid fire service the neon streak went spiraling straight at Naota.  
  
i"What did you hit me for?"/i The accusing echo and the sound of dissonant guitar riffs were the only things that Naota could think of as he winced and waited for the impact.  
  
But it didn't come. Somehow he instinctively swung. Rewinding his grip back to the time on the rooftop above the starry sky, when he was all alone and somehow felt like that was okay. It felt better than denying that it never happened.  
  
He felt the ball connect. Mouth to mouth. Forehead to forehead. Consumption into the red he felt it tremble against him with the kinetic force. Deformed from the pressure, he thrust it back so it slunk through the air without direction. Finally landing far from Ninamori's unprepared reach.  
  
The nouveau-rich daughter of the mayor, to her credit, did not look as thunderstruck as Naota did. But then, she didn't know that was a swing that surpassed even his famous brother, maybe even Her swing. Instead, Ninamori simply tugged the synthetic gut before returning to her stance, looking a little less healthy than before. "Fifteen to love. Your serve."  
  
Naota swung again. It hit the net. The second time wasn't much better since he overcompensated and sent it flying against the back of the fence.  
  
30-15, Ninamori's serve later, Naota dared to ask. "Why do you like tennis anyway?"  
  
"My mother wanted me to try it. She said it would look good for the family if I played it." Ninamori caught the ball and began to idly rub her thumb over the yellow fuzz. "But when they lost interest.I still liked it. It's the only sport that makes sense."  
  
"How do you figure that?" Naota blurted out in disgust. It was nothing like baseball.and baseball was a rotten sport too, come to think of it. All the time spent waiting for something to come out you so you can swing and hit it away from you.  
  
"I just liked it that, even if you never score a point, you still get the best score you can ever hope to have. Better than in real life. The points add up illogically, they don't allow compromises, they have terms where you break your opponent."  
  
She coughed violently then, her hand with the ball reaching up to cover the force that sent her body shuddering.  
  
Naota started for a moment, but he stayed put. It wasn't like he could do anything to help her. It wasn't even like it was his problem in the first place. Still unsure, he ventured, "Ninamori-san? Are you okay? Do you want me to get the teacher?"  
  
Her spasms subsided, and for a second it looked like Ninamori was kissing the tennis ball because she still held it in her hands, breathing raggedly upon it. Then, like nothing happened, she straightened up and shrugged. "I guess I was just afraid I wouldn't be good at any other sport. I already spent so much time playing this to do anything else."  
  
Ninamori Eri wanted to be the next Ai Sugiyama or Akiko Morigami the same way she wanted to be a famous movie star, which was really not at all. Naota felt that everything was the same for her: the school play, this informal game, class presidency, being sick...it didn't matter until she admitted it did.  
  
"You should probably stop," Naota warned. "You look really sick."  
  
Without warning, Ninamori cast the most scathing glare she could. "At least I come to school regardless of being healthy or sick. When you skipped classes or when you deliberately left the play rehearsals you didn't have any excuse."  
  
All of his previous goodwill vanished. It made his head twinge in annoyance the way she would abruptly turn her mood just when she didn't like things were going. One moment she would be almost considerate and then the next he would be chastised for an unexplained reason. And he was so sick of being treated like the butt of an in-joke in a place where he was always one step behind. He was sick of being used as a replacement for a brother or a boyfriend or just someone who seemed to be Ninamori's personal victim of unexplained causes.  
  
"What do you care!" Naota shouted, rubbing his forehead to try and make the pain go away. "It's not like it matters to you. You just want me around so you can be a bossy, stuck up snob-" the throbbing raked painfully along his skull. SNAP. "-and it's none of your business that she left me because you used me just as much!" He opened his eyes to see that nothing seemed to be in focus from the blinding pain, except for the look of pain on Ninamori's face. The same expression he never really noticed before.  
  
Ninamori just clung to the wires of her tennis racket, pulling on her synthetic gut until it twisted through her shirt. She seemed to almost double over as she clutched the graphite frame, as if she would collapse without it. "Naota-kun...  
  
Service. Match.  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
She sent the tennis ball out like a shotgun shell. Before Naota could even utter "Canti" he saw it bearing straight at his head, but this time he knew he jinxed himself. He would not be able to call upon whatever luck he previously had to deflect the shot. It struck him in the middle of the forehead with the force of a Gibson Electric. On contact he could feel the presence of Ninamori's lingering saliva strike him in a painful indirect kiss.  
  
By this time the other students had overheard their shouting match and come to see the results.  
  
"Did you see the way she pegged him? Like Shinobu Asagoe! Pa-CHU! What a shot! Pa-CHU! Chuuuuuuuu!"  
  
Something once dormant in him snapped awake the same moment his head recoiled. A deep imbedded fear rose once again as Naota clawed at anything that might spring from his forehead even as he spun backwards and onto the painted blacktop.  
  
"Are you guys okay?" Masashi cried out.  
  
Naota desperately checked over to see that if anything had sprung from his head but it remained as ordinary as it was before; nothing had grown there since Atomsk's wings. Suddenly, it made sense what Masashi was referring to as Ninamori made a grunting sound that seemed to drown out the incessant sound of guitar feedback in Naota's ears. It was a herald, a sign, of what had occurred before. All that filled his mind was a desperate plea for this not to happen again, not without Haruko here to save him.  
  
As soon as Ninamori dropped to her knees, Naota had sprung up with no other intention than reaching whatever threat of the abnormal and extraordinary that would spring from her.  
  
The rest of the class stared in shock, wondering what sort of strange occurrence Ninamori would involve them in this time.  
  
Her hands covered her face, but finally fell away when it became too much to hold inside. But instead of a massive horn growing, she opened her mouth and let out a stream of glistening orange vomit onto the ground before collapsing.  
  
Naota was already beside her, pulling back the violet hair and turning Ninamori on her side. Vaguely, he could remember calling for help after he knew there was nothing unexpected to be afraid of, even though they were already there and mutely watching. He realized now, there was nothing he needed to be saved from.  
  
But even so, he kept his hand pressed tightly to Ninamori's feverish brow.  
  
iThey called the paramedics soon after that. For some reason they kept me by her side until they came, or maybe it's just that I didn't really make an effort to leave. And just before she left in the ambulance I felt her squeeze my hand.  
  
"Naota," she said in barely a whisper, "are you sick or just faking?"  
  
They took her away before I had a chance to even ask what she meant. All I know is I didn't catch her cold the next day. I didn't miss any school. I didn't get another headache. I didn't do anything at all that was out of the ordinary.  
  
Maybe that's wrong. Maybe I should be sick. Maybe I'm supposed to be sick. So then why do I believe that everything so normal?  
  
I was right when I said everything is always the same. Nothing ever changes in this place. Maybe because nothing makes sense anymore.../i 


End file.
